


Sing little bard

by Elenwe12



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Canon-Typical Violence, Fëanorian Week 2018, Gen, Introspection, Poetry, etc etc the usual themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 06:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenwe12/pseuds/Elenwe12
Summary: You chase after your fate little bard and run towards the roars of flames and darkness. We know that, little bard, for we are waving the tapestry of your life and our threads are that of blood and betrayal. Say, little bard, what is this nightmare?(Part of Feanorian Week 2018)





	Sing little bard

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Chante, petit barde](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664909) by [Elenwe12](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenwe12/pseuds/Elenwe12). 



> This is a translation of an OS I wrote a while ago.  
> It was rather difficult to translate it in English and I was hesitant to do it at first but then I noticed it matched the prompts of Feanorian week a little too well (Childhood, Music & Songs of Power, Elrond & Elros, Kingship, Maglor’s Gap, Redemption) so I went for it! I hope it's not too bad...

 

Black is the sky, like an inkwell spilling pitilessly on a ruined parchment. Rays of light pierce it with difficulty. Tiny dots. Useless. The Night is everywhere, it even enters the minds, engulfs thoughts, and inundates hearts by its pernicious ink.

It is the reign of wrath. Of fear. Emotions hitherto unknown by Elves in the Undying Lands. What light will now come for them?

A voice calls for them in the darkness. Torches are lit. Darkness and fire. You knew nothing of this, little bard. Stare at them nonetheless. Gaze with your braised eyes at the flames dancing in the midst of obscurity. Gaze at the shadow thrown on faces by the torches. Watch little bard, that is your future.

Listen as your father speaks, little bard. Let his words penetrate your burning heart. And when it will be time to vow, jump with your brothers. Brandish your sword with them. Gaze at the flickering glints of flames on your blades, on your faces. Utter, like the others, the terrible Oath. Your heart must not waver little bard. See how darkness and fire blend perfectly on our tapestry. Do you not wish to make them your colours?

If only you could wake up. How hard you wish for all of this to merely be a nightmare.

.

Oh, of course, you should not have spilled blood. But what other choice did you have, exiled prince? You swore after all, like the others. You cannot hesitate now. Blood flows in the beautiful shore of the Teleri, tarnishes the white ships. Is it not poetic little bard? Could you not make a song out of this?

No, how could you? Is it not the blood of your brothers that has been spilled? How could you sing the horror of your sin? But you had to do this, you did not have a choice. And we now add our first red thread to the tapestry of your life. It will not be the last, you already know that, don’t you little bard?

Close your eyes, little bard, to not see the blood staining your once so noble hands. Maybe this could all be a dream. Close your eyes.

.

How magnificent the flames were this night! How high they went in the sky! You cannot look away from the blaze. Such beautiful white ships engulfed in a sea of flames and smoke. Fire and darkness woven together, once again. We told you, traitor to your brothers, those two threads will be at the heart of our tapestry. Why be surprised? Deep down, do you not wish to burn too?

Your older brother steps aside, he does not want to see the swans burn. But you, little bard, you cannot look away from them. Hallucinated. Fascinated by those flames, like a moth struggling with his frail wings to escape from its terrible fate. Yes, you are indeed a son of Fëanor, little bard!

Why plug your ears little bard? Nothing can cover the crackling roar of the blaze that resonates within your heart. Say, do you still believe you can wake up?

.

You are alone, pathetic king. What can you possibly do now? Your father is dead (engulfed in a single flame! How admirable Fëanor was! Burning so much from within that nothing was left of his body! Not even ashes, scattered away by the wind…), weep little bard. Your older brother was captured (of course, he should have beware! The Enemy appeared all of a sudden! Ran at him like a cruel flame, traitor! And his brother vanished…), what did you do little bard?

Why are you still here, mourning? Should you not go and free him? No, you have seen the treacheries of Morgoth! You know he will not give you your brother back. Deep in your heart, you are praying for him to be dead, are you not little bard? His suffering would have ended while the rest of you must burn, still.

But remorse is eating at you, little bard. You can see it in the eyes of your brothers, that you should not be king. What do you think you are doing, little bard? If only someone could free you from this burden.

Stand proud, little bard. Have you not made your choice?

You are alone, little bard. Oh, how you wish to become a small child again and nestle in your parents’ arms as you used to after a bad dream.

.

Will you be able to forgive yourself for this abandonment, shameful brother? You stare at the body of your brother, broken by torments. The flame that once inhabited him seems gone, snuffed out by the darkness of your Enemy. Oh, you regret so much little bard. But it is too late for that, see that mutilated body. Perhaps you could have saved him…

The rising dawn no longer brings you any joy. How long has it been since you last sang little bard? Too long probably. But what could you tell? All your deeds are marked by betrayal, death, and blood. Hush now, little bard.

You choke on the words filling your throat, a silent scream inhabits you and is reflected in your eyes, we can see that little bard. But your nightmare will not end with death, little bard. You must wake up.

.

And what will you do know, pitiable Elven lord? Your castle lost, your lands ravaged, forced to find shelter at your brother’s. You had to flee from the flames, did you not? Morgoth’s hordes were too great in number and the fire-drakes too powerful.

How ironic! Son of Fëanor, fire vanquished you! Are you not laughing too?

No, of course. Because you opened the gap to Middle-Earth, little bard. And your brothers had to flee because of your weakness. Pitiable rout for the proud sons of Fëanor. Your older brother, alone, stands still. Why cannot you be as strong as he, little bard?

You remember, little bard. How he used to console you after a bad dream. That is why (you can confess it to us, who are waving your tapestry) you sought shelter with him, is it not?

.

Say, fallen prince, how does betrayal taste? Oh, how predictable it was. Why did you not beware? So certain of your victory! Wander now, proud sons of Fëanor, for you lost everything.

What are you thinking about little bard? The corpses of elves and humans mowed down by death you trampled on during your retreat? The eyes of your allies, illuminated with hope, as the battle started? Or the empty eyes of your young page’s corpse? Tell us, little bard. Are you thinking about the man you killed with your own hands to punish him of his deceit? Are you satisfied by this death? For once, you are not ashamed of the red blood splattering you, right little bard?

His death was not enough to prevent your defeat though. Where was Fingon? Did he not see the signal? You understand now, little bard, Fingon will never see any signal again. Everything is now so bitter.

And orcs pill up the corpses in a gigantic hill and you flee away from this battlefield. You have nothing left, little bard, is it already the end? Your tapestries are covered with so much purple, soon we will run out of threads.

You wish for the nightmare to end, little bard, you would like to open your eyes and not see dead bodies anymore.

.

Why then? Why this slaughter, felon prince? Blood flowed, spilled by your unsatisfied blades. You can still see the flames of the Oath on your sword, you remember the harsh words uttered during that night. And you slay, little bard, you slay.

You wish for blood to stop impregnating your life. But you can never redeem the scarlet that is already engraved in your tapestry. Do you really think it possible to one day forget so much violence, little bard?

How your brothers resemble you. It feels like staring at deformed reflections of yourself. As if you all were fragments of a same mirror, broken a long time ago. But those fragments are dead, you know that little bard. Why does it sadden you? Did you really think your treachery would not come with a price?

How naive, little bard. We thought you understood. You have to go to the end of the dream little bard. How else can you hope to wake up?

.

Three shining Silmarils. Such was your legacy. The quest of your life. The light behind your dark Oath.

Three Kinslayings. Such was your mark on this world. Bloody.

Oh, irony suits you so much, hallucinated sons chasing chimeras.

You bring fire to the peaceful Havens. You splatter the night in blood. How perfect, your entire life consumed in this attack. The blood is that of innocents; it does not matter.

Of course, you are all doing this reluctantly. You did not have a choice. If they had surrendered the Silmaril to you, none of this would have happened. But alas, the Silmaril was not returned.

And the white bird rises in the sky while the Havens burn, and you flee, again. There are only two of you left now. The twins are gone. They too burnt.

Perhaps you will wake up when the sun rises, little bard.

.

He searched for the children, the entire night, in the darkness of the woods. Trying to redeem the last villainy of his brother. But no one could find them, and the two abandoned boys vanished from memories.

But not from your brother’s, you know it.

Maybe this is why those two children seem so familiar to you. How you wish to love them (but they are hostages!) and finally forget your life of suffering. Maybe you could sing for them, dreamed father? But what could you tell them? Did you not kill their family?

And yet… you are hypnotised by the grey eyes of those children. You can see a light in those. Maybe they can save you from your own darkness little bard.

Oh, how you wish to believe that. Would it not be a beautiful dream, little bard?

.

You were right of course. War was over, what need did you have of a last battle? You knew, poor blinded soul, that Darkness were the weft on which your life was waved. You could have broken your Oath, you had a chance. Just another little perjury, one last treachery. How easy it would have been.

But you refused to break the promise made to your brother, little bard. You did not want to let down the only brother you had left, the one you once abandoned (oh, you regret it so much!).

And now, you are fleeing. Run little bard, run! You cannot escape the fire devouring your hand. Unworthy of your heritage! Another disappointment…

Your brother is burning, you know it! He is consuming himself, like your father. The flames are not as strong, of course. He threw himself in the heart of a blaze, you know it, little bard. Killing himself, he who was to live forever. Are you laughing at this irony little bard?

Run little bard. Run to the end of your dream.

.

The ocean lies before you, covering our voices of its furious roars. Beyond, eternal Bliss can be found, you know it. Your brothers are awaiting you there, you are the only one left. But your legs are trembling, wretched bard. You cannot come back to Valinor, not after so many crimes, you are too frightened.

The Silmaril is burning your hand. What will you do now little bard? Your mind is crumbling, we know it. What are you thinking? Tell us, little bard, for we cannot understand you in your madness.

What a superb throw it was. The Silmaril flew high in the airs, went far, so far. Was it trying to reach the Undying Lands? It sank deep in the waves.

You are laughing now, little bard! A deranged, pathetic, frightened, painful laugh. How ironic, this life. So many treacheries and murders only leading to the bottom of the oceans. You are laughing at the untying of this tragedy.

But our tapestry is not yet finished little bard. You must sing now. Of course, your hand is burnt, of course, your voice is broken. Sing little bard, sing still! Only you can narrate your admirable fall.

It was never a dream little bard. Open your eyes, only reality ever accompanied you.

See how obscurity surrounds you. Eternal Darkness had always been a part of your life. Ever since this terrible night of inky sky and blazing torches. You knew that, didn’t you little bard?

**Author's Note:**

> ... well, that's done.
> 
> I know it doesn't really make sense. At first it was supposed to be told from the point of view of Vairë's servants but at some point it drifts towards Maglor's internal conflict. Or is the whispers of the Enemy ? I don't really know.
> 
> Still, I hope you liked it and thank you for reading :)


End file.
